Read Online The Curvy Voice Coach and the Billionaire Actor (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) by Victoria Wessex - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Wessex
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he’d played the Special Forces soldier who’d saved the world.
I was the president’s daughter, twenty-something but still innocent and sheltered, torn from a life of luxury and privilege when her father was replaced by an android. I was carried off by Tanner’s character, fleeing the combined forces of the CIA, the FBI, the NSA and the aliens themselves. There was one scene in particular, in which we hid out in a classy hotel. I’d just turned down Tanner’s advances—again—because he was so loud and uncouth and badass, even though it was blindingly obvious to everyone in the audience that we should be together. Why do they always do that? They can’t see what’s right in front of them! It’s ridiculous. But then he finally grabbed me and kissed me, up against a wall.
“Goddamnit, Sabrina,” he hissed. “They could find us at any minute. Break down the door and turn us both into alien slaves. Do you really want to keep playing these games?”
Back in my bedroom, my hand was stroking over the rough denim of my jeans, right over my most sensitive spot. I’d closed my eyes, and in my imagination I was there in the hotel room, gazing up at Tanner. “N—No,” I said.
His hands were quick at the buttons of my blouse, opening it right down the front and then dipping his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. In my bedroom, I groaned and pressed my back hard against the wall, opening my own blouse. Okay, that’s enough, I thought. I’m not actually going to strip all my clothes off.
In the movie, Tanner had roughly shoved his hands under the heroine’s bra and flipped it up—well, it had looked like that, but they’d swung the camera up to focus on her reaction, because the movie was a PG-13. I ran a hand up my bare stomach and skimmed my fingertips under the bra cup. And then I flipped both cups up, baring my breasts. In my imagination, my hands were Tanner’s much larger ones as I squeezed my breasts in my hands—softly at first and then harder, my thumbs finding my nipples.
I had a good memory for movies—certain scenes in movies, at least. There’d been a shot of Tanner’s hands unbuckling the president’s daughter’s jeans. “God,” she’d moaned, and I moaned the words myself, out loud. “We can’t. My father—”
“I don’t give a damn about your father,” Tanner had said. And then he’d kissed her, long and deep, and her jeans had slid down.
My own jeans fell around my ankles, quickly followed by my panties. Am I really doing this?! I thought, as my hand slid down to my sex and my naked ass ground against the wall. In the movie, it had faded to black at that point, so from here on out, I was running on imagination alone. But my imagination is pretty good.
I eased my legs apart, imagining it was Tanner’s strong hands spreading them. My fingers were tracing the shape of my lower lips, and I could feel how swollen they were, my juices already starting to flow. I rubbed, my ass making slow circles against the cool plaster of the wall, and my lips began to part.
“You’re such a good girl,” I imagined Tanner saying. “Proper and perfect. But inside, you want it...don’t you?”
And I thrust a finger inside me, longing for it to be him. I felt my knees buckle. “Yes,” I whispered out loud. “I want it.”
I started to plunge my finger in and out of my rapidly-slickening folds, my eyes tight shut, my head pressed back against the wall as my hips ground at the air. I’d opened the window, not being used to air conditioning, and the warm summer air felt thick and heavy around me. A light sheen broke out across my skin as I rubbed and thrust, my hips beginning to make circles….
But it wasn’t enough.
There was something that would make it enough.
I almost dived across the room, not wanting my climax to slip away. Buried in the depths of my carry-on case, hidden inside a sock, was a shiny pink vibrator with a tapered end, almost like a lipstick. Smaller than a
I was the president’s daughter, twenty-something but still innocent and sheltered, torn from a life of luxury and privilege when her father was replaced by an android. I was carried off by Tanner’s character, fleeing the combined forces of the CIA, the FBI, the NSA and the aliens themselves. There was one scene in particular, in which we hid out in a classy hotel. I’d just turned down Tanner’s advances—again—because he was so loud and uncouth and badass, even though it was blindingly obvious to everyone in the audience that we should be together. Why do they always do that? They can’t see what’s right in front of them! It’s ridiculous. But then he finally grabbed me and kissed me, up against a wall.
“Goddamnit, Sabrina,” he hissed. “They could find us at any minute. Break down the door and turn us both into alien slaves. Do you really want to keep playing these games?”
Back in my bedroom, my hand was stroking over the rough denim of my jeans, right over my most sensitive spot. I’d closed my eyes, and in my imagination I was there in the hotel room, gazing up at Tanner. “N—No,” I said.
His hands were quick at the buttons of my blouse, opening it right down the front and then dipping his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. In my bedroom, I groaned and pressed my back hard against the wall, opening my own blouse. Okay, that’s enough, I thought. I’m not actually going to strip all my clothes off.
In the movie, Tanner had roughly shoved his hands under the heroine’s bra and flipped it up—well, it had looked like that, but they’d swung the camera up to focus on her reaction, because the movie was a PG-13. I ran a hand up my bare stomach and skimmed my fingertips under the bra cup. And then I flipped both cups up, baring my breasts. In my imagination, my hands were Tanner’s much larger ones as I squeezed my breasts in my hands—softly at first and then harder, my thumbs finding my nipples.
I had a good memory for movies—certain scenes in movies, at least. There’d been a shot of Tanner’s hands unbuckling the president’s daughter’s jeans. “God,” she’d moaned, and I moaned the words myself, out loud. “We can’t. My father—”
“I don’t give a damn about your father,” Tanner had said. And then he’d kissed her, long and deep, and her jeans had slid down.
My own jeans fell around my ankles, quickly followed by my panties. Am I really doing this?! I thought, as my hand slid down to my sex and my naked ass ground against the wall. In the movie, it had faded to black at that point, so from here on out, I was running on imagination alone. But my imagination is pretty good.
I eased my legs apart, imagining it was Tanner’s strong hands spreading them. My fingers were tracing the shape of my lower lips, and I could feel how swollen they were, my juices already starting to flow. I rubbed, my ass making slow circles against the cool plaster of the wall, and my lips began to part.
“You’re such a good girl,” I imagined Tanner saying. “Proper and perfect. But inside, you want it...don’t you?”
And I thrust a finger inside me, longing for it to be him. I felt my knees buckle. “Yes,” I whispered out loud. “I want it.”
I started to plunge my finger in and out of my rapidly-slickening folds, my eyes tight shut, my head pressed back against the wall as my hips ground at the air. I’d opened the window, not being used to air conditioning, and the warm summer air felt thick and heavy around me. A light sheen broke out across my skin as I rubbed and thrust, my hips beginning to make circles….
But it wasn’t enough.
There was something that would make it enough.
I almost dived across the room, not wanting my climax to slip away. Buried in the depths of my carry-on case, hidden inside a sock, was a shiny pink vibrator with a tapered end, almost like a lipstick. Smaller than a
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